


and, my darling, i am nothing without you

by teacupfulofbrains



Series: fbi!au [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Brotherly Analogical - Freeform, FBI!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Whump, also i think this technically counts as, also technically the moxiety proposal fic, at long last i present to you the "virgil-is-kidnapped" fic, background romantic logince - Freeform, platonic TLAMP, romantic moxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupfulofbrains/pseuds/teacupfulofbrains
Summary: virgil just wanted to propose to his boyfriend. now he's in the clutches of some weirdo and he'll never see his brother or boyfriend again. he's just a computer analyst; how does he always get into these situations?(OR: the fbi!au virgil-is-kidnapped/moxiety-proposal fic y'all have been waiting over a year for)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton & Thomas Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: fbi!au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577062
Comments: 10
Kudos: 218





	and, my darling, i am nothing without you

**Author's Note:**

> at long last, i present the virgil-is-kidnapped fic! heed the cw on this one, folks; it's kind of dark 
> 
> CW: kidnapping, injury/blood, violence, whump, cursing, mention of knives, hospital mention

_This_ , Virgil thinks, is why he _never leaves the fucking batcave_. 

He’s pretty sure he’s bleeding. He was hit pretty hard on the back of the head when they first ambushed him, and there’s something warm and wet in his hair. He’s on the ground now, phone who-knows-where, and he’s regretting not taking Logan’s offer of a ride. 

He stands up, preparing himself to run away, and almost immediately, he’s grabbed again from behind. A hand clamps over his mouth with an iron grip, and an arm locks around his torso, and he kicks out frantically with his legs. “Now, now, it’s not _nearly_ as much fun when you do that,” someone drawls. 

Virgil narrows his eyes, mind racing, trying to figure out what he can do. He sticks his tongue out and licks his captor’s hand, and then he gets the idea. he pulls his head back, like he’s struggling, and the captor’s hand follows, and Virgil opens his mouth just a _little_ wider - 

He bites down, _hard,_ managing to snare a finger in his jaws. Whoever’s behind him - _the unsub, Patton would call him the unsub_ \- swears loudly, and he lets go long enough for Virgil to fling himself out of his grasp. 

Virgil lands hard on the concrete floor of the parking garage, pushing himself to his feet and trying to gather his wits. Is it worth it to go for his phone? No, he needs to run. He has to get out of here, right now, before anything else happens. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to the bullpen before the rest of the team leaves.

Luck, however, is not on his side today. Just as he’s starting to stand up, something hard and swift connects with his stomach. Just like that, all the breath is thrown from his body, and he wants to scream or cry or _do something_ but he can’t even breathe. 

He’s harshly yanked up by his hair, and then thrown back to the ground. He’s pretty sure his nose is bleeding now; when he gasps in, he tastes the sharp sting of copper. Behind him, Virgil hears the distinctive noise of a zip-tie being pulled out. 

Whoever’s behind him zipties his wrists together, the hard plastic digging into the soft skin of his wrist. They tighten another ziptie around his ankles, and then he hears the _ssshkk!_ of a roll of duct tape. The unsub wraps the tape around his wrists, over the ziptie, and then around his knees, and then around his ankles. They pull him up by his hair again, and he winces but doesn’t scream. He won’t give this asshole the satisfaction. 

More duct tape is wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, and then the unsub drags him across the parking garage by his hair. “If you’re a good boy,” he murmurs, giving a particularly vicious pull, “maybe I won’t gag you.” 

He drops Virgil in front of a small, blue car while he pops the trunk. Virgil stares at it, burning the details into his mind, and when the unsub moves to pick him up, he sees the license plate: _VC3W87_. 

The unsub hoists Virgil up and throws him into the trunk, along with the roll of duct tape. Before Virgil can react, the trunk door slams shut. He struggles, but between the zipties and the duct tape his range of motion is pretty much non-existent. And it’s pitch black inside, and Virgil can’t see anything, 

The car starts up with a jolt, and loud music begins to play from the speakers. Virgil tries to throw his body weight against the trunk, tries to get his bearings. He tries to feel for the taillight, to kick it out so he can let someone know he’s in here. But the car is jerking around too much, and even if he could kick the light out his hands are bound. 

Virgil considers screaming, but the music is too loud. He’s spent his entire life in a tiny 6x9 room, tracking creeps like this guy through computers, and now he’s in the trunk of a car and he’s going to die. 

He struggles some more, valiantly, but he can’t get even the slightest inch of movement. The zipties are hurting him, and he’s worried that he’s going to start bleeding if he pulls any harder. He takes a shaky breath, eyes burning. He will not cry. Not here, not now. 

He chants the license plate number in his head: _VC3W87. VC3W87. VC3W87 VC3W87 VC3W87 VC3W87._ He has to figure out how to get this information to his team. He has to get out of here. He has to get back to his brother and his boyfriend and - 

Virgil chokes back a sob, because oh god, Patton. It’s Friday. He’s supposed to go over tonight because Patton’s making dinner, and Virgil - 

Virgil was planning to propose. 

He won’t get that chance tonight. He may never get that chance. He will, in all likelihood, die before they find him. He’ll die, and Patton will never know that he meant more than the world to Virgil, because Virgil was too terrified to ask a question he knew he’d get a _yes_ to. 

Virgil takes a deep breath, feeling something hot and wet slide down his cheeks. 

He doesn’t think it’s blood this time.

* * *

Patton waits for around three hours before he calls Virgil. The food is long cold by this point; Virgil hasn’t called or texted to let him know he’d be late. He hasn’t heard anything from Virgil since earlier in the afternoon, when he’d asked if they were still on. Virgil had kissed him and said that they were.

Virgil is not here now. 

Patton calls Virgil seven times. Every time, it goes straight to voicemail, without even ringing. He’s starting to worry now, because Virgil is never without his cell phone. He practically gives off his own WiFi signal. 

He dials Logan instead, and mercifully, Logan picks up after the third ring. “Patton?” Patton can hear Roman’s voice, softly filtering through the speaker, but he can’t make out any words. 

“Logan, is Virgil with you?” Patton asks. 

“I thought you two had a date tonight? Didn’t you two leave the office together?”

“No, I - I wanted to surprise him, and he said he had to get something from his apartment. He told me he’d meet me here three hours ago, but I haven’t heard from him since earlier today at work!” 

“Did you try calling him?” 

“Seven times,” Patton says. “It went straight to voicemail - didn’t even ring.” 

Shuffling noises as Logan moves around. “That’s not right. Virgil always has his phone on him.” 

“We should go back to the office and check on him,” Patton says. 

“Virgil had the car today, I’m at Roman’s.” 

“I’ll drive you to the office, sweetheart,” Roman choruses; Logan must have put him on speakerphone. “We’ll see you there?” 

“Okay,” Patton says. “I’m calling Thomas, too, okay?” 

“The more, the merrier,” Roman says, and Patton can hear the smirk. It’s almost reassuring. 

Almost. 

He pulls into the parking garage, sprinting up the staircases to the level where Virgil’s car was parked. He spots the car almost instantly - still there, and there’s a suspicious red stain on the concrete, surrounded by shards of black and purple plastic. Patton gazes, horrified, at the empty space three away from Virgil’s car, at the dark black skidmarks that definitely weren’t there this morning. 

His phone rings, and he picks it up. “Anderson.” 

“Patton, it’s me,” Thomas says. “I got your message - what’s going on?” 

Patton’s throat is suddenly dry, and he has to force the words out. “Thomas, I - I think Virgil’s been kidnapped.” 

Footsteps ring out behind him, and Patton whirls around, pulling his gun out with his free hand in case whoever took Virgil is still waiting - what for, he doesn’t know, but he’s ready to fight. 

Logan holds his hands up in surrender. “Patton, relax. It’s Logan.” Next to him, Roman tenses, hand hovering over his gun. Even as he puts his own gun away, Patton’s heart warms a little to see how ready to defend Logan Roman is. His heart immediately chills a little, because if he’d pushed just a little bit harder for Virgil to come home with him, he might be here. 

“Patton!” Thomas calls, and Patton remembers he’s on the phone. “You think what?” 

“His car is still in the parking garage!” Patton says. “There’s blood on the concrete, there are - there are skid marks that weren’t here before, and - and there’s pieces of what i think are his cell phone all over, and -” 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Logan’s hand is on his shoulder. Patton’s been doing this for years, much longer than Logan has, why is he crying? 

“He’s gone, Thomas,” Patton chokes. “Virgil - Virgil is gone.” 

They congregate in the conference room. Logan’s face is blank, but it’s the careful kind of blank he schools his face into when he’s trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. He has a death grip on Roman’s hand, and Roman doesn’t say anything. 

Thomas meets them in the office, face uncharacteristically grim. “Crime scene unit is on its way to the garage. We have to have faith, guys.” 

“Virgil’s not trained,” Logan mutters. 

“What?” 

“He’s not trained. We - we have protocol that we learn in the event we’re kidnapped. Standard procedure. Virgil never got that training because he’s not a field agent.” Patton’s blood turns to ice in his veins. 

Logan jumps, as though he’s been slapped, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s buzzing with a blocked number. Patton pulls his own phone out and opens a recording app. Logan sees it opened, answers the call, and puts it on speakerphone. 

“ _ **Am I speaking to Agent Logan Wallace of the FBI?**_ ” The voice is electronically filtered, altered to make it impossible to recognize. 

“Yes, you are,” Logan says. Patton is impressed at how calm and steady his voice is, but he can see his shaking hands. “With whom am I speaking?” 

“ _ **My name is unimportant. What is important is what I have.**_ ” 

“And what might that be?” Logan asks. Roman squeezes his hand. 

“ _ **Many things, most of which would interest any other member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. But there is only one thing that would interest you, Agent Logan Wallace of the FBI.**_ ” 

“And what might that be?” Logan repeats. Patton picks up on the almost-undetectable tremor in his voice. 

“ _ **Virgil Knight.**_ ” Patton opens his mouth, but Thomas holds up a hand in warning. _Don’t_. 

“How do I know you have him? How do I know this isn’t a joke?” 

“ _ **Are you asking for proof of life, Agent Logan Wallace of the FBI?**_ ” 

“Yes,” Logan says. 

There’s a staticky shuffling noise on the other end. “ _ **You have two minutes,**_ ” the voice says, and then there’s the sharp sound of duct tape being torn away. 

“Virgil?” Logan’s voice is slightly higher-pitched and frantic. “Virgil, are you there?” 

“ _Lo?_ ” Patton wants to cry in relief, because that’s Virgil’s voice. He’s alive - for now, at least. His voice is shakier than Patton would like it to be, but it’s _his voice_. 

“Virgil, are you alright? Where - where are you?” 

“ _Don’t be blue, Logan,_ ” Virgil says. “ _Life’s too dan small for that._ ” 

“Virgil, what happened?” 

“ _I need you to - to do me a favor, okay? I need you to tell - tell Victor to bring Charlie three whiskeys, alright? The ones from 1987, alright?_ ” 

“Virgil, what does that mean?” 

“ _Victor needs to bring Charlie three whiskeys from - from ‘87,_ ” Virgil repeats, voice more frantic. “ _Logan, you have to -_ ” 

There’s a sharp smack, and Virgil shouts in pain, and then the electronic voice is back. “ _ **Will that be sufficient proof, Agent Logan Wallace of the FBI?**_ ” 

“Why do you have my brother?” Logan demands. 

“ _ **You have mine,**_ ” the voice responds. “ _ **I propose a trade. You have six hours to consider the offer. I will call back and await a response. If you value his life, you will cooperate.**_ ” 

The line goes dead. 

Patton barely registers Roman pulling Logan into his arms, barely registers Thomas reaching for him. There’s something white rushing in his ears, clouding his vision, and when he blinks and his vision clears, his fist is on the table. He’s punched it. 

“Patton, you gotta breathe,” Thomas says, and his voice is low and soothing but Patton doesn’t want to be soothed.   
  
“We have to find him,” Patton seethes. “We have to find him and then we have to find whoever took him so I can _break their goddamn face._ ”

* * *

Virgil shifts restlessly against the tape and zipties holding him in place. He’s bound to a hard wooden chair now, locked in a dingy concrete room. There are mold stains on the ceiling and water dripping somewhere, but he doesn’t know where. 

The door slams open suddenly, and bright white light streams into the previously darkened room, blinding him. A dark silhouette stands in front of him, and there’s something that looks suspiciously like a knife dangling at his side. “Hello there, _Virgil Knight_. You think you’re _soooooo_ much better than all of us, don’t you? So safe in your little _computer room_ , getting us captured and hunted down by your little FBI compadres. Well, not _this_ time!” 

Virgil struggles against his bindings. He tries to speak, but after the last time he was “interrogated” (wherein he’d cursed his captors out and then attempted to bite one of them), his mouth is plastered with duct tape. 

“Awwwww, are you upset? Does that _bother_ you? Well, don’t worry your ugly little head about it. You’re not going to see them ever again.” 

The knife blade flashes in the light, and Virgil jerks against his bindings again.

* * *

“It has to _mean_ something,” Logan says, studying the whiteboard where he’s transcribed Virgil’s cryptic message. “It has to! Virgil would not simply say things like that with no purpose. We do not even _know_ a Charlie. Or a Victor!” 

“I know, Logan,” Thomas says. “But you have to take a breath. You’re never going to help your brother if you can’t calm down.” 

“I will _never_ calm down while my brother is prisoner of some - some - some _criminal!”_ Logan hisses. Patton, who hasn’t stopped pacing in the corner since the phone call, nods tersely. Roman tilts his head at the message from where he sits on the table, squinting. 

“What if it’s a license plate?” 

“What do you mean, _what if it’s a license plate?”_ Patton asks. “How is it a license plate?” 

“Virgil’s never one to shy away from curse words,” Roman says. “But he said ‘Life’s _two dan_ short’ instead of ‘too damn,’ which is something he’d never do unless he was trying to send a message.”

“Two door sedan,” Logan says suddenly, slamming his fist against the table. “Virgil must have meant that he was abducted in a two door sedan!” 

“So if that was what he meant, the rest of the message really could have been a coded attempt to give us the license plate,” Thomas says. “But how?” 

“I would say it was a coded language attempt, but Virgil does not speak any language except for English and computer code,” Logan says. 

“What about the NATO phonetic alphabet?” Patton asks. “Didn’t you and Vee used to write coded notes to each other when you were small?” 

“We - of course! How could I have been so blind!” Logan says, smacking his forehead. He quickly begins circling words and muttering to himself. “Here - Charlie is ‘C’ in the alphabet. Victor is ‘V’ and Whiskey is ‘W’! That means that these numbers - 3, 8, 7 . . .”

Logan picks up a whiteboard marker and writes _VC3W87_ oh the board. “This must be our license plate. On a two door sedan.” 

Patton pulls his gun out of his holster and checks that the bullets are fully loaded. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Virgil’s head sags against his chest. He can feel his eye swelling up with a bruise, and the only reason he’s no longer gagged is that his nose is bleeding so much he couldn’t breathe. He’s covered in bruises and cuts, and he’s definitely dehydrated. All he can think about is his family. 

He wants to have Roman burst into his office singing loudly, disrupting his latest coding project. He wants to sit and criticize old movies with Logan. He wants to curl up in bed with Patton after a hard week of work, to feel Patton’s fingers in his hair, to press his lips to Patton’s cheek. He wants to go _home_ , and he’s probably never going to see it again. 

He can hear some time of commotion down the hallway, and he exhales shakily, closing his eyes. He’s not ready for another round of torture. He’s not ready to face the inevitability of losing his life. 

Someone discharges a gun - once, twice, thrice, four times. Virgil lifts his head, confused, and suddenly the door is kicked open again. 

“ _Virgil?!”_

Great, now he’s hearing voices. He wants so badly to see his little brother again that he’s hearing things. He can’t believe it’s come to this, but being kidnapped does weird things to your mind, he guesses -

“Virgil, it’s me! I’m here, it’s okay!” 

He opens his eyes to see Logan staring down at him, eyes wide behind the reflections on his glasses. “I’m gonna get you out of here. I’m here. I’m here.” He reaches behind him and pulls out one of Virgil’s knives, kneeling down to saw at the duct tape and zip ties. 

“L . . . Lo . . . you got my message?” Virgil says softly. “I always knew . . . between us . . . you were the . . . the smart one . . .”

“We are both smart in our own ways, you incomparable imbecile,” Logan hisses. “Enough of this. Roman and Patton are taking down the asshole that kidnapped you.”

“Pat . . . here? I - I have to - where is . . .” 

“Did you find him?!” an achingly familiar voice cries, sprinting through the doorway and sinking to his knees in front of Virgil’s chair. “Vee! Are you okay?!” 

“Pat,” Virgil sighs, leaning up into the warm hands on his face. Patton sobs and presses their foreheads together. “Patty . . . Pat, you . . . marry me?”

“What?! Virgil, what are you -”

“Marry me,” Virgil repeats, Patton’s face blurring out in front of him. “Love you . . . wanna . . . wanna marry . . . have to ask . . . before . . . too late . . . love you . . . marry . . . me?” 

His eyes slide closed, and his head leans against the comforting warmth of Patton’s shoulder.

* * *

Virgil’s eyes slide open, and everything is white. 

“Am . . . I dead?” His tongue feels like it’s wrapped in thirty thousand layers of cotton gauze. 

“I fucking hope not, after all the trouble we went through to get you back,” someone snarks. Virgil turns his head away from the blinding white of the sheets and the walls and the floor to focus on a splash of color - Roman, sitting in an uncomfortable-looking plastic hospital chair with Logan slumped across three more chairs beside him. Logan is wearing Roman’s bright red hoodie, head resting in Roman’s lap as he sleeps, and he looks uncharacteristically young. 

“R . . . oman?”

“Hey there, Batman,” Roman says, smiling softly. “How are you holding up?” 

“Lousy,” Virgil croaks. He shifts, wincing. “Ah! What hit me?”

“Someone with a complex. Multiple times. In the face, torso, shoulders, legs, arms, et cetera et cetera. You’ve got some fractured ribs, a nasty black eye, severe dehydration and malnourishment . . . but you’re alive.” 

“Where’s Pat?” 

“He was keeping a vigil here for the past few days you were out. Thomas forced him home to shower and sleep, so Lo and I are taking care of you.”

Logan stirs at the mention of his name. “Mmngh . . . Ro . . . wha’s . . . hap’nin . . .”

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, _mi querido_ ,” Roman says softly. 

“I do not like eggs . . . or bacon . . . wh . . . my brother?” 

“Hey,” Virgil says softly, coughing a little. Logan immediately sits upright, so fast that his legs get tangled in the armrests and he nearly faceplants on the linoleum. “Lo, are you -”

“ _Virgil!”_

Logan scrambles onto the hospital bed and presses himself into Virgil’s arms. He’s shaking, and Virgil winces as he lifts his arms but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping Logan up in a hug. “Lo . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t . . . mean to . . .”

“I know,” Logan whispers. “I know that no one intends to get kidnapped. But I - you - you are my brother, and the most important person in my life.” Virgil flicks his eyes up to look at Roman, who just smiles knowingly. “I cannot even fathom what would happen to me if you were not in my life. You are so incredibly important to me. I do not want to lose you, ever. Please, Virgil.” 

“You’re not losing me,” Virgil murmurs, holding his brother tightly. Logan makes a soft, pained noise and hugs Virgil as tight as he dares. “Is - is Patty coming?”

“I just texted him,” Roman says. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

* * *

Patton is barely able to restrain himself from running through the hospital hallways. He grips the purple patchwork hoodie tightly in his hands. It’s the only piece of Virgil he’s had with him since he was kidnapped, and he’s terrified. Roman says that Virgil is awake now, but what if it’s a lie? What if -

He throws open the hospital room door, barely able to restrain himself from slamming it against the wall. Virgil is propped up in bed, pale skin even more unnaturally so against the bright white of the hospital linens and underneath the fluorescent lights. He has an IV line in his arm, and the eyeshadow under his eyes is replaced by dark bags and a nasty bruise. He smiles at the doorway. 

“Hey, Pat.”

Logan is sitting at his bedside, holding his brother’s hand tightly. Roman is nodding off against the wall, slumped over in a hospital chair. Patton drags a chair up to the other side of the bed and takes Virgil’s other hand. 

“Vee . . .”

“Sorry I scared you,” he says softly. 

“Don’t apologize for this like it’s somehow your fault!” Patton laughs, voice high-pitched and hysterical. 

“Pat,” Virgil says. “What I asked you when I was rescued . . . do you remember?”

“You were delirious,” Patton says, even as his heart beats rapidly. 

“Before I got kidnapped, I was gonna propose to you. I don’t have my ring with me, and I can’t get down on one knee, but I - I want - Pat, you’re the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?” 

Patton feels the tears streaming down his face again. 

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Of _course_ I will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr! // [@teacupfulofstarshine](https://teacupfulofstarshine.tumblr.com)


End file.
